


Got Yourself a Gun

by Skinandpit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skinandpit/pseuds/Skinandpit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby's there for Sam, and Sam swears that's a good thing. </p>
<p>Set in the interim between Dean's death and his resurrection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Got Yourself a Gun

There’s blood under Sam’s fingernails, and he’s not sure how it got there. It’s getting to be like that more and more, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

It’s not like he hurt anyone. It’s just Ruby’s.

He stares at his nails, looking like rot in the light that filters through the motel curtains — sickly yellow, the color of flypaper, reminding him nonsensically of tuberculosis sanatoriums. He’s never understood why cheap motels go out of their way to make themselves seem even cheaper.

He should get out of bed, but all he can think is that it’s cold out there and it’s warm in here, beneath the covers, with Ruby’s spine pressed up against his own.

“Ruby,” he says, his voice rasping. The inside of his throat is crusted with blood. It’s a strange, diseased sensation that he’s gradually growing accustomed to. He swallows. “Hey, Ruby.”  
  
She stirs, then pushes herself upwards, swinging so her face looms above his. Her eyes are black.  
  
Sam frowns. “Why do you do that?”  
  
She flicks her eyes back, that subtle click barely startling anymore, and then she’s looking down at him with deep brown borrowed eyes. “Better?” she says.  
  
“I didn’t mean — “ It doesn’t bother him much anymore. He’s got her blood in him, and on him, and anyway he grew up with Azazel in his veins, integral to the construction of his body.

He clears his throat. “I mean, why pretend to sleep?”  
  
“It’s nice.” Ruby shakes her head, just a little, so that her hair falls along his naked throat. Sam shivers, heat spilling through his ribcage, and he braces himself against the rise of want. “A little quiet now and then isn’t so bad.”  
  
“I get nightmares,” he tells her.  
  
She presses her fingers against his esophagus, so that he chokes, but only a little. “I know that, little mouse. I can hear you squeaking in the night.”

Sam sits up.  
  
She takes her hand away.  
  
Ruby reminds him of — what, exactly, he doesn’t know. Some kind of scavenger. A hyena, maybe, or one of those vultures with their heads adorned in colors. She takes all the dead things at eats them, chomp chomp chomp, so they won’t rot and spread their disease.

“Let’s start,” she says. “You aren’t ready yet, but you’re getting close.”  
  
He flicks his eyes towards the digital clock on the bedside table. Ruby’s knife lies beside it, where he’d laid it to rest after using it last night, flush with vampire hunger.

It’s ten o’clock. She’s let him sleep in.  
  
He nods, absently, and she pulls away from him to climb out of bed. She’s naked, and when the blankets fall away they expose the her ribs, her hips, the jagged fingernail marks trailing from her forearm. She looks like a junkie, but yeah, that’s just him. 

He turns away so she can put her clothes on without him staring. If she were his girlfriend he might have looked, but she isn’t, and he can’t figure out what they’re supposed to be to each other. They make love, but he knows that he’s not supposed to kiss her cheek or brush her hair away from her face. He thinks maybe watching her get dressed in the morning is too intimate, worse than sex.  
  
Sam licks his nails. 

They taste like sugar, not salt. Demon blood is sweet as candy. 

From behind him, he hears Ruby laugh.  
  
“Hungry?”  
  
“Not —“ He takes his hand away from his mouth. “No.” 

  
She walks back into his field of vision. She’s wearing his shirt. Maybe it’s Dean’s shirt. He can’t remember.

He stares.  
  
She scratches at the swollen red lines down the inside of her arm, and he decides to let it go. 

“Did I —“ he says, embarrassed to hear his voice quiver. Ruby responds immediately, leaning into him, one hand on his knee, her hair hanging around her face like dripping ink.  
  
She smiles, now, and there’s not a trace of irony about it. It’s jarring. He likes her smile. He likes her.  
  
There’s a hole in his heart where Dean is supposed to be, but Ruby’s there instead. If it wasn’t for her, he’d fill it up with something ugly, something rotting.

Ruby, his scavenger, Ruby eats the dead things he aches for — his brother, his father, his fiancé.

She kisses his forehead.  
  
“Yeah,” she says, without moving away, her lips shifting against his skin. “Yeah, little gun, you did good.” 


End file.
